


Rookie Analogies

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10111742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “But that’s not my exciting news,” Liam says. “Roman—”“I don’t care,” Mike says preemptively, having zero faith that saying as much will dissuade Liam.He’s right.





	

Mike doesn’t miss Liam being in Detroit. He doesn’t miss the distance, he doesn’t miss scrambling to carve time together, he doesn’t miss an empty bed, especially since he’s still got one every time the North Stars are on the road. He might have missed phone sex a little, because Liam is creative and filthy and shameless, and while he’s all those things in person too, something about Mike not being able to see him ratchets that up another level, but again. North Stars have road trips. Mike’s still getting phone sex _and_ he has actual sex. That is what you would call a win-win.

Possibly the only thing that Mike misses about Liam being 700 miles away is that he didn’t have to listen to the team gossip Liam was of the mistaken opinion Mike should give a shit about. Mike didn’t give a shit about team gossip for teams he was _on_ , one of the best parts — or only good parts — of retiring was that Mike was no longer required to give a single solitary shit about whatever interpersonal drama was going on in the locker room.

Liam, on the other hand, ferrets that shit out like it’s his job, and he _loves_ it. Maybe he got a taste for it when he was causing all the fucking interpersonal drama his rookie year. The ridiculous fucking Rookie Detective shit has only made it worse — when he was in Detroit he’d _try_ to tell Mike about whatever drama the Red Wings had going on, but Mike could usually distract him. Often with the phone sex.

Living with Liam is a whole other thing. If Mike tried to distract Liam with sex every time Liam got that gossipy little gleam in his eye, Mike’s dick would be chafed to hell and back and Liam would possibly just tell him about it anyway while Mike was post-coital and too relaxed to escape. Mike isn’t just pulling this out as a hypothetical or anything — Liam likes to talk about the shit Mike wants to escape from when Mike’s still got the taste of him on his tongue. It’s supremely annoying, and also not even close to enough to make Mike think twice about getting balls deep in him.

Mike’s flipping through a cookbook Liam picked up for him in Dallas when Liam gets back from some extra training. 

“Oh man, you would not believe what happened today,” Liam says, almost the second he’s in the door. 

“Wouldn’t I?” Mike asks dryly. He has a feeling he is not going to be allowed to continue reading, so he sticks a post-it on a meatloaf recipe that surprisingly doesn’t look fucking disgusting. His mom’s a sucker for meatloaf, and he can’t figure out why, because hers is terrible. Maybe he can put her on a better path.

Liam plucks the book out of his hands almost the moment Mike’s closed it, dropping it unceremoniously on the coffee table before sprawling on the couch like Mike’s just a cushion.

“Hi,” Mike says dryly as Liam drapes his legs over his lap.

“Legs hurt,” Liam says, and Mike snorts but digs his thumb into the back of Liam’s calf.

“You have a massage therapist for this,” Mike says. “With training and credentials and everything.”

“I like you better,” Liam says, then wriggles his feet until Mike gives in.

Kid’s got thighs as thick as his ass, but he’s skinny from the knees down, all muscle tense under Mike’s fingers as he finds the knots, careful to skirt any visible bruising. “The fuck are you wearing shorts for?” he asks.

“It’s nice out,” Liam says. 

Liam’s delusional. It’s fifty out, and Liam’s skin is cool under his touch until Mike kneads that out of him too.

Liam’s quiet, other than grunting when Mike hits anything particularly tense, and Mike thinks he’s free of whatever no doubt ridiculous thing happened today, but basically the second Liam deems his legs adequately massaged, he says, “So first off I kicked _ass_ at a weight-lifting competition.”

Mike’s honestly not surprised. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. “Did they give you a handicap?” he asks anyway, because he’s sure that’s what Liam expects.

“Nope, straight up rocked Harry,” Liam says.

“Chalmers is barely bigger than you are,” Mike says.

“Like three inches,” Liam counters. “And probably ten pounds. So there.”

“So there,” Mike mouths incredulously. “You are twenty-six years old,” he reminds Liam aloud.

Liam grins, unrepentantly immature.

“But that’s not my exciting news,” Liam says. “Roman—”

“I don’t care,” Mike says preemptively, having zero faith that saying as much will dissuade Liam.

He’s right.

“—spent like the whole time staring at Connie like he was two seconds away from bending him over the weight bench,” Liam says. “I’m surprised he wasn’t running with a hard-on.”

“You checked, didn’t you?” Mike asks, then, when Liam grins, “Of course you checked.”

“I felt like I was in the first scene of a porno or something,” Liam says. “‘Ooh, I’m all sore from my workout Roman’,” he says in a breathy voice that Mike’s going to assume is supposed to be Connelly. “‘I can help with that, Sweetheart, why don’t you lie down and let me take care of you?” The voice he’s using for Novak sounds suspiciously like the voice he uses when he’s putting words in Mike’s mouth.

“God help me,” Mike mutters.

“‘Where are you sore’?” Liam continues heartlessly. “ ‘Oh Roman, my ass is—’”

Mike puts a hand over Liam’s mouth, and doesn’t pull it back even when Liam bites his palm, just meets his eye until Liam settles a little.

“These are your teammates, brat,” Mike says.

“You were my teammate,” Liam says.

“Quit thinking up porno shit for them,” Mike says. 

“I’m just reusing what I was daydreaming about in the workout room during my rookie year,” Liam says. 

“Novak and Connelly?” Mike asks.

“Nah, you were Novak, I was Connelly,” Liam says. “Turns out you give just as good a rubdown as I hoped.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mike sighs. 

“And I mean, it’s not hard since Roman looks like you—” Liam starts.

“Novak doesn’t look anything like me,” Mike says.

Liam raises an eyebrow at him.

“What, all big dudes look alike to you?”

“Big,” Liam says, starting to tick his fingers off. “Hairy, awesome beard, could bench press me without breaking a sweat, probably has broken his knuckles on someone’s face—”

“I never broke my knuckles,” Mike says. Some bone bruising, one cracked, but none broken.

“Missing at least five teeth,” Liam continues. 

“I’m not missing any teeth,” Mike says.

“How many of those have you had since you were a teenager?” Liam asks.

Mike gives him the finger. Just because they’re not original doesn’t mean they’re not there. He doesn’t consider himself vain, but he sure as shit didn’t want to be wearing some trumped up version of dentures at the same age people were going to college.

“Let me see,” Liam says. “I wanna guess which ones are real.”

“No,” Mike says, careful to keep his lips covering his teeth.

Liam reaches for him.

“If you try to stick your fingers in my mouth I’m going to bite a fuckton harder than you bit me,” Mike says.

“Maybe that’s what I was aiming for,” Liam says sweetly.

Mike rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” Liam says, moving to straddle Mike’s lap while Mike keeps a suspicious eye on his hands. “He looks more like you than Tom does.”

Tom takes after their mom. Mike, unfortunately, looks more like the son of a bitch who left them. Sometimes he doesn’t know how his mom can look him in the eye without seeing that. Maybe she does. He doesn’t want to know.

“What’s your point, here?” Mike says.

“They just remind me of rookie year,” Liam says. “It’s sweet.”

“Nothing about your rookie year was sweet,” Mike says.

Liam smirks. “You could be sweet,” he says, and Mike would argue that nothing about him is fucking _sweet_ , but the way he says it is filthy, and that — yeah, Mike can be sweet like that to him if that’s what he wants.

*

“And like, Connie,” Liam says, before he’s even caught his breath, cheeks a high, frantic flush and a bruise forming on his shoulder where Mike set his teeth — _his_ teeth, implants or not — into him.

Mike groans and rolls on his stomach to shove his face into the pillow. “I don’t _care_ ,” he says, muffled.

“He’s so freaking sweet,” Liam says, undaunted yet again. 

“If anyone has ever told you that you’re sweet, they were fucking lying,” Mike mutters.

Liam smacks his shoulder. 

“And if you’re comparing yourself to someone, maybe don’t do it with the dude a foot taller than you,” Mike adds.

“Nine inches,” Liam corrects, as if that makes all the difference in the world. “And you do listen to me,” he adds happily, like Mike remembering which of the dudes in his fucking bushes last spring was the giant is a huge accomplishment. 

“Can’t tune you out all the time,” Mike says.

Liam digs his pointy little chin into Mike’s shoulder. “Come on, this isn’t even a little funny to you? I feel like I’m watching my rookie year from the outside. I give it two months before Roman’s bending Connie over.”

Mike sighs, giving up on hiding in the pillow, and turns over. Liam tucks his cheek against his chest, fingers tangling in his chest hair. 

“Don’t interfere with whatever the fuck you think’s going on with Novak and Connelly,” he says.

“But that’s no fun,” Liam says.

“You said that kid has stars in his eyes, right?” Mike asks. “How’s he going to feel if he gets bent over for a little while then dumped whenever the thrill’s gone?”

“Roman wouldn’t do that,” Liam says. “He’s a nice guy.”

“I thought you said we were alike,” Mike says dryly.

“Yeah, because you totally dumped me when the thrill was gone,” Liam says. “Wait.”

“I tried, but someone wouldn’t let me,” Mike says, and Liam’s fingers tighten enough he knows he hit a sore spot. “When it’s gone I’ll let you know,” he says, reconciliatory, and feels Liam smile against his skin. “Kick you out on your ass.”

“You love my ass,” Liam says.

“It’s a good ass,” Mike allows, reaching down to give it an affectionate pat, then tucking Liam tighter into him. “Can I sleep now or are you going to start narrating cheesy porno again?”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Liam says.

“Good time for a nap,” Mike says.

“You feeling okay today?” Liam asks. Mike swears, every fucking time his health gets brought up Liam’s voice goes soft, like he’ll wake the migraines or something by speaking at his normal — way too fucking loud — volume. He doesn’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. It should probably annoy Mike, he thinks, and sometimes it does, but mostly he sort of likes it. 

“Just tired,” Mike says. “Gonna take a nap with me?”

“Shouldn’t,” Liam says, but that’s not a no, and he pulls back to set an alarm on his phone before he throws himself on Mike like a wriggly blanket again.

“Stop squirming,” Mike says, and when Liam finally stills he pulls the covers up over them and falls asleep with sun filtering warm on his face from the window, Liam breathing soft against his skin.

*

That should, of course, be the end of it. Mike has zero faith it will be, and a sinking feeling he’s going to be getting updates on whatever non-events will occur because if Novak’s even a little bit smarter than the damn stupid Mike was he won’t touch that kid with a ten foot pole, let alone with his dick. He’s mostly resigned himself to hearing about it anyway.

“Holy fuck,” Liam comes blustering in after his next game. “Shit, did I wake you?”

Mike was planning on waiting up for him, but apparently he failed. “S’fine,” he says, straightening up. His neck fucking screams at him for dozing off sitting up. Last thing he remembers was a tying goal halfway through the third, so he was probably asleep for awhile. “You win?”

“In OT,” Liam says. “Connie got it.”

“Good,” Mike says.

“But holy fuck!” Liam says, clearly waiting for Mike to ask. Mike wants to leave him hanging a little longer.

“Two point night, huh?” Mike asks.

“Mike,” Liam whines.

“Proud of you,” Mike says, and Liam looks torn between beaming at him and pouting at him. It’s hilarious.

“Thanks,” Liam says, then all in an excited rush, “I think I’m watching a legit love triangle and it’s the best thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Connie’s got to be putting out crazy sex vibes or something, _man_.”

Mike sighs. “I think you need to stop reading that shit you read,” he says.

“That’s where I get all my best ideas,” Liam says, then, “Plus, the only love triangles in erotica are threesomes. Wait—”

“I’m going to bed,” Mike says, and he’s the opposite of surprised when Liam practically clips his heels following him up the stairs.

“Don’t you want to know who it is?” Liam asks.

“Nope,” Mike says, twisting his neck to try to get the lingering twinge out.

“Want me to —” Liam asks.

“You going to only do it if I ask who?” Mike asks suspiciously.

“Of course not,” Liam says, offended sounding, so Mike shrugs and strips down for bed, lets Liam’s fingers gently work over his neck. He doesn’t do it hard enough to make a real difference, but that’s what professionals are for, and it feels good.

Mike’s halfway back to dozing when Liam says, “It’s Harry.”

“Liam,” Mike groans.

“I didn’t make you ask!” Liam says.

“I genuinely hate you,” Mike says into the pillow, and Liam leans down and kisses his shoulder.

“Go to sleep old man,” he says. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“Wonderful, a reason to dread waking,” Mike says, half expecting another bite in retaliation, but Liam just hums out a laugh and pulls the covers over Mike’s exposed back, punctuating it with another kiss that lingers on Mike’s skin.


End file.
